AN: shout out to the new reviewer whose left alot of reviews on this fic, I'm grateful for your encouragement. To the reviewer addressing Carmen's character development, thank you for giving me the heads up. I'd hate for her chapters to be bland and nauseating to read. I believe it's after this chapter that she's going to be less despondent as she has been throughout this story.

Chapter Seventeen: The Confession

Halted in front of the cruiser, the engine to the Ford two seater had cut off, and the driver's door opened.

Settling his attention on two corpses - one scantily clad corpse lingered in his sight for a staggering moment - a look of praise crossed Adam's pallid face before he looked at Michael.

"Let's see...I'm guessing Carmie got away?"

A beat, and then...

"She's right here, you motherfucker," Carmen rose from cover, arm poised with the revolver.

"Ooh." Adam feigned hurt, then winked. "Right on the mark."

"Did you think you wouldn't get caught if Myers killed me?" Carmen asked.

His laugh was an answer she didn't like.

"Kill you?" Her brother's voice suddenly lost its humor. "I'm sure if he was supposed to, you'd be dead by now. But, if you're so eager, he'll get around to it. I mean he doesn't look so good now, but he can't die so you'll get what's coming to you eventually."

He can't die.

Had she heard Adam right?

But, that's impossible…

Everyone died. They had to if they were human.

If.

Adam didn't allow for her to process that revelation when he stepped closer.

"Stop." Her eyes were hard and aligned the barrel with gleaming jade leering at her. She'd made her decision to stand her ground the moment Michael decided to kill that girl, and she wasn't letting up now.

Although his smile widened, Adam did stop and she tried not to be bothered by the fact that…

There aren't anymore bullets.

Adam must've had their father's pistol tucked underneath his baggy shirt. Once he discovered her ruse, he could shoot her in the knees and ensure she would never be able to run again.

Her confidence faltered slightly.

"You know, when it's not the night of Samhain, his game really slips. Ain't that right, buddy?" Adam looked at Michael and stuck his thumb in his direction. Michael didn't give any indication of answering, so Adam dropped his hand and shook his head disapprovingly. "Can't talk— that one."

"What's 'Samhain'?" She had never heard of the word before until now.

"Oh, you know, last night of the harvest? Festival of the dead? Evils roam the lands." When it hadn't dawned on her, Adam looked appalled. "Come on, Carmen, you're hurting me here! Halloween! Fucking Halloween!"

"That doesn't exist."

"Sounds like mother talking." He shook his head and his face lit up as though he remembered something. He opened his palms and looked at them. "I wonder if you feel just like her."

Feel just like her?

"What are you talking about?"

His lips gave an ironic twist.

He was baiting her, but Carmen couldn't resist asking. Knowing— because she loathed secrets. The truth was her right. No matter how painful it could be.

"What am I talking about? That hurts me," He said, "But I can't be too disappointed with you. Just this time, you have my forgiveness. You, of all people, couldn't have known."

A pause and Adam chuckled. Carmen tried to think of the worst possible thing as he cleared his throat and sucked in a breath.

Then, he let it out.

"I killed her — I killed our mother."

Her grip weakened, and in the center of her mind there existed a high pitched ring.

"Phew! Glad I let that one out!," Adam said.

"You're lying. She... committed suicide." Her voice was hollowed, robbed of the emotion which had instead fled to her chest, to her eyes.

"And I did a damn good job at making it look like one." Her brother said, "But, Mama was bound to do it one day. You knew this Carmen, didn't you? Every year around this time of year, she calls in the boss and gives a sappy excuse that she's sick — needs a few days off. Then she takes her cigarettes, a cold bottle of liquor, and sits in the living room, probably mopes."

Adam threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "And you probably told the police this! That's why the coroner ruled it as a suicide."

Anger was a furnace in her chest. Though she couldn't say what had caused it. Her brother's confession, or her own ignorance?

His hands fell to his sides, Adam's eyes crinkled and his smile became broad. "Do you want to know how I killed her?"

Carmen forced a tiny voice. "No."

"I think you were at practice— you're a real runner aren't you, Carmen? Interested in joining state championships one day? No? Makes sense why you're so fast. But you could never make it could you? I wonder why." He trailed off as his gaze wandered. "I guess, since mother was home she left the door open for you. As always—"

"Stop it."

"She was passed out on the couch…"

Please. Stop.

. "And it was that easy to take the pillow from the loveseat…"

Don't.

Adam interlocked his fingers and mimed squeezing something. Then, he stopped his demonstration and frowned.

"What a dumb bitch. Who leaves the front door unlocked?"

Carmen wished for a loaded gun. She wished so hard her head ached

"Isn't that something though? Remembering your mother as this depressed broad who leaves her only daughter alone. I can imagine that fucked with your head. It certainly fucked with mine when she left Haddon—"

"I hate you."

His words stalled and his smug expression slipped a bit.

It would be the first time she'd ever said those words to anyone. She thought she wasn't wise enough to know what hate was, but deep down inside, the part of her mourning her mother transformed into wrath and it sought vengeance. The grip of the revolver could've broken in her viscous grip.

No bullets.

"Do you really hate me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes." Carmen bit back.

"If you did, wouldn't you have shot me by now? I mean — you did love mommy very much didn't you? Don't you want to avenge her? Don't you...want to kill me?"

Carmen suddenly felt drained.

Then, a smirk crept on his face that she could've called a grimace with how little flesh he had on his cheeks. "There's nothing in that gun, is there?"

His hand was on her shoulder before she'd realized she was lowering the gun. Not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice. Because what good would it do?

She wanted to cry, mourn until the ache in her chest bequeathed her with unfeeling. To her, it was the night she discovered her mother's corpse all over again.

A tear escaped her eye and he smoothed his forefinger against her cheekbone, wiping away the wet trace of her despondency. "You can cut it with the act now…" He said. Disgusted, Carmen flinched her head away, but a bony hand snatched her jaw.

"I'm going to kill you," she said.

"You won't."

"For what you did."

Adam looked at her amusedly, disdainful as ever.

"You won't," he repeated. "Trust me. You can't."

He laughed, the racket loud and arrogant. It sickened her to the point of near incapacity.

Then, he squeezed her cheeks. "Because you're going to pretend you don't know anything," he said, "It'd be better for you if you did. It'd be worse if you don't, and you're going to wish Michael killed you."

Carmen could hear herself screaming, though nothing came out of her mouth. It was all in her head.

No! No! No! Nonononononono.

She would sooner die than forget what Adam had done. She would sooner die than let him get away with this.

She would sooner kill—

It was impulse that explained why her eyes slid over to Michael who had slumped forward against the tree. No regular man would still be standing after what he'd endured. Maybe, as impossible as it sounded, he couldn't die after all. Because monsters don't die, why should Michael?

She saw the mask angled in their direction. The headlights shined over the Halloween prop. She could see the heat of his stare. Then, she turned her head to Adam who raised his fist and all of her thoughts ceased as she screwed her eyes shut, releasing the last tear that this night would see.